“Some stories say that Hades kidnapped Persephone while she was picking flowers in a meadow during spring, married her, and tricked her into staying with him for six months by having her eat six pomegranate arils. Others say they fell in love with each other, were willingly married, and that she ate those six pomegranate arils because she couldn’t bear to stay away from him for a whole year. Isn’t that a more romantic side of the story than the original?” she remarks, splitting open a pomegranate and picking out its seeds.

“That’s just a silly notion. The gods and goddesses of the ancient Greeks and Romans had nothing better to do with their time, so they created fake deities to occupy their time,” he replies, opening a bottle of honey wine and taking a sip. “Besides, if I was Hades and you were Persephone, I wouldn’t want to spend any second away from you even more than I have to.”

He leans over, buries his head into her shoulder and breathes in her scent. “What would you do if you were her?” he asks.

She smiles. “Pomegranates would be the only fruit I’d eat for the rest of my life.”

When I lay on the mellow green

Of the earth

who fosters me like one of its

missing child,

making me drunk on the honey comb

Filtered juice that warms my flesh

from a far away driven sight

and jewel me with its dirt

that smells as though

my entrails have been hidden within,

bewitching me to call it a home.

The autumn wavers its hello

in its brown and crusty foundation

but it feels as if

the spring has crawled on me

Lightly bruising my cuticle,

All naked and archaic

as though It has been waiting for me;

To be the fragrance of the woods

again to be someone

I have always meant to be.

[This is a poem that I hope describes the color I want it too- Describing a color seemed too easy so I opted for a poem to do so instead, I hope you enjoy]

The rocks, dark and eroded

Tide washing against the rock edge.

I sit in silence,

staring at the negligent and killer sky.

I sit in silence,

waiting for the storm to pass on by.

Eyes, dull with sadness, devoid of almost all color

my brother sits in silence next to me.

Breeze Wafting,

Storm Cackling.

I hear the color screaming at me

all around me,

wrapping me like a woolen blanket.

Silence, I do hear.

Silence, I do see.

Silence, I do feel.

Enigmatic and misunderstood. Underrepresented because only one thing comes to mind when the word is muttered. Everyone's least favorite color, so intertwined with digestion that it might as well be its name. Like the people that wear it, it is profiled harshly, described only as its name, never appreciated, never complimented for the beautiful variations. The old photos, the plethora of spices, the mighty trees, the cracked ground, the sizzling meats, rich breads, shades of different makeup, glistening polluted waters, speckled planets, dense rocks and faded book covers are all ignored. All cut down into two words: chocolate and poop.